


The Free Will Job

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Leverage
Genre: Artists, Case Fic, Con Artists, F/M, Gen, Heist, Nate's issues, Orwellian, Painting, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A casefic where the team goes after a tech genius CEO who happens to love collecting art.  Nate goes in as a tortured artistic genius, but the character hits a little close to home.  Sophie, of course, keeps the show running smoothly.</p><p>A little angst, a little humor.</p><p>For the prompts: Case fic, team fic, Nate's issues, and Sophie and Eliot talking about Nate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Free Will Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoke/gifts).



A handsome, middle-aged man in an expensive suit appeared on the large screen in front of the team. 

“Our mark,” Hardison said. “Dylan Carey, founder and head of PanMetrics Incorporated.”

“He looks like a nice guy,” Parker observed with some surprise.

Eliot raised an eyebrow at her.

“What?” she said. “Usually, they _look_ like jerks.” 

Hardison continued, “PanMetrics is a data analysis company. But it is so much more than that, people. They mine for data about you, every website you’ve visited, everything you’ve bought with a credit card, and then they apply advanced mathematical analysis to do a complete psychological profile of anyone they want. And I’m talking _advanced_. As in they know the ad that will make you buy what they want, they know the slogan that will make you vote how they want. It figures out the primal needs – sex, kids, money, respect – that are most driving you right now, and, more importantly, it figures out the best way to appeal to those urges without you noticing it. Psychological manipulation for the dystopian age, people.” 

“That is seriously creepy,” Eliot said.

Sophie joked, “If machines can do all this, what’s a grifter going to do? I feel replaced.”

“Yes, you and the Rust Belt have so much in common,” Nate said, amused. “But you’re right, Sophie, it’s grifting on a large scale. Using what you know to find weaknesses in people and exploit them. The math is loosely similar to biometric programs that scan public areas for behavior that might indicate plans of violence.” 

“But it takes it up a notch,” Hardison explained. “Dylan Carey’s algorithms use the latest in psychological and neurochemical research. His company can tell you the best way to play anyone. I mean, we all think we’re above manipulation, but studies all show that resisting truly well-crafted persuasion isn’t nearly as easy as you think. Resisting one of Carey’s targeted ads is possible, but they’re designed to fire off the neural pathways that you’ll find hardest to resist. It’s like….”

“It’s like placing a drink in front of an alcoholic,” Nate said wryly. “They have a choice. But it’s not much of one.”

“Free will for sale to the highest bidder,” Sophie observed. 

“Let me guess, perfectly legal,” Eliot grumbled.

“Yes. But what’s not perfectly legal is framing a whistleblower for stealing when all they did was leak PanMetric’s client list,” Nate said. 

“Which brings us to our client,” Hardison said, switching to a photo of a woman with her two young children. “Her contract had a confidentiality clause, but she found a loophole and managed to get a client list to a journalist.”

“Bet that was bad for business,” Sophie said, “Every company wants the info, but none of them want it to be known publicly that they’re paying to manipulate their customers’ emotional weaknesses.” 

“Exactly,” Nate said, “But if PanMetrics claims that she’s being investigated for stealing from the slush fund, she has no credibility, and the journalist can’t run with the story. But here’s the deal,” Nate continued, “If Carey can’t keep his algorithms proprietary, the company goes down. If the algorithms are made public, and everyone knows exactly how and why they’re being manipulated, his methods are basically useless.”

“Now that’s what I call an open source code project,” Hardison said, and was promptly ignored by everyone else.

“Trouble is, Carey doesn’t trust anyone. He keeps the algorithms on a drive and only he knows the location. And he’s too paranoid to let anyone at work find out about it, even in a dire situation. That’s why we come at him from another angle,” Nate said.

“He’s an art lover,” Hardison said, switching to a screenshot of Munch’s screamer juxtaposed with Rodin’s Thinker, photoshopped to look like a movie poster for an odd-couple buddy comedy.

“Nice,” Eliot smirked, and Hardison smiled his thanks.

“Specifically, he fancies himself the next great American art collector. The algorithm is his cash cow, the thing he wrote when he was in his twenties that made him his fortune. But art is his passion,” Nate said.

“You want to go in on the Black Beret,” Sophie realized, half worried and half intrigued.

Nate smiled. He said, with a little too much glee, “Let’s go steal free will.”

They stared at him for a moment, no one wanting to say the term “control issues” out loud.

Nate, seeing them, added, “You know, back. I meant, steal it back.” 

 

*************************

The plan was going well so far. Parker and Hardison had gone in as art dealers who convinced Dylan Carey that the _real_ art collectors had their own artists – in other words, that Carey’s company should hire an artist-in-residence. Art patronage in its purest sense, Hardison had promised. Carey was courteous and receptive to their ideas and didn’t hit on either of them, and so Parker’s boasting that she didn’t stab anyone was met with only faint praise. 

The artist-in-residence was Nate, of course, or rather Nate playing the role of an egotistical but tortured artistic genius. Sophie played his ‘sister-in-law’ who handled the business affairs of her dear late sister’s husband. 

At Sophie’s suggestion, Nate acted disdainful of corporate sponsorship, which of course only made Carey want him all the more. Nate hammed it up a bit in front of the mark, going on and on about how hard it is to be a mastermind of art when no one around you appreciated how hard it was, which caused a fair amount of eyerolling from the team when they quickly realized that he was drawing on his supposed life experience for the con.

Soon, Carey was enthusiastic about making Nate his pet artist, but naturally he wanted to see some originals. Which was the reason Sophie was spending the afternoon going on a tour of Dylan Carey’s collection. He had invited Nate to go as well of course, but the ‘artist’ had claimed that he would become blocked if he viewed a gallery full of the work of other artists, and so Sophie was stuck alone with the mark in order to get a better idea of what kind of art he would most want to patronize.

“Thanks a lot, Nate,” she had said.

“Please, we can both tell that Carey is harmless as long as he doesn’t think you’re a direct threat to his business,” Nate had answered.

“What’s so important that you can’t come? Are you busy obsessively overplanning? Or sulking about this fantasy you have that no one understands you?” Sophie asked with a slight smirk. She wasn’t really upset – she could probably get more information alone anyway. But no need to let Nate know that.

“I need my solitude,” Nate replied with a rakish grin, “You know, for my art.”

Sophie frowned again. Nate really did act like his isolation was oh-so-very-necessary for his work. She was beginning to really dislike how similar this artist character was to Nate.  


Nevertheless, her time with Dylan Carey was quite productive. As he proudly showed her his art collection, she learned that he had an excellent eye for abstract impressionists but didn’t know much about the painting scene of the last 20 years and so would easily be fooled by a painting from a lesser known artist that he didn’t recognize, as long as the painting was, well, good. She also noticed that his interest in her was not entirely professional; he was trying to impress her, though he wasn’t pushy or lascivious in the least. Every time she complimented a piece in his collection, he smiled brightly.

She didn’t have to fake these compliments, for the most part. His collection really was impressive, with a few exceptions. He made the same mistakes talented but newish collectors make, likely overpaying for half-hearted sketches by big-name artists and underestimating his own penchant for finding excellent pieces by lesser-knowns. 

One of these finds was placed in a corner with completely inadequate lighting or sightlines, but Sophie, of course, didn’t comment on these mistakes. Instead, she focused on the painting itself, saying, “What a remarkable piece. I’m not familiar with this artist – on first glance it looks like it’s from the 40’s but the more I look at it, the more I think the artist is more contemporary than that.”

“Oh, uh, that’s just some piece I picked up for cheap, you know, supporting the obscure painters, even if the painting itself of course is not on caliber with the others…” Dylan stammered, seeming to apologize for it.

“Not at all,” Sophie said, “Before managing my brother-in-law, I did some appraising work, and this painting is exquisite.” She gently rubbed his arm while saying it, and though she actually did quite like the painting, there was nothing like validation to reel a mark closer.

They continued to peruse his collection, Sophie mentally noting what a shame it was that she wasn’t in the art theft business any more. But she found herself enjoying the conversation a bit more than she expected. It was nice, once in a while, to find a mark that one didn’t find horrifying to spend time with. 

When she returned, she told Parker what kind of painting to “borrow” for the con, and worked with Nate and Eliot on the next step.

 

*************************

Carey had called a press conference to announce his new ‘acquisition,’ i.e., Nate. When she arrived, Sophie once again reminded herself not to let her team pick their own costumes. Nate had chosen a paint smock that he had clearly asked Parker to decorate with paint splatter, and a black beret. _A black beret_. Everyone knows you don't actually wear the object the con is named after. It wasn’t like Nate to overdo a stereotype to this extent, and it made her worry a bit about his focus. Eliot, who was posing as a reporter for the Contemporary Art Journal, was also somewhat cliché in his black turtleneck, black jeans, ponytail and glasses, but at least it didn’t look costume-y. 

The press conference started smoothly. Carey thanked everyone, even if they had nothing to do with art patronage, and made some pun-based jokes that received little response, and though Sophie was used to finding her marks a bit ridiculous, she caught herself wishing she could show Carey how to run a slightly more dignified event.

Soon Carey shoved the microphone at Nate, asking the new artist-in-residence to say a few words. Sophie braced herself. She had a feeling Nate was going to play up the eccentric artist to a hilt.

“Well, um…” Nate started, acting as if he didn’t dare look at the audience, “I’d like to thank Mr. Carey for his um… you know, his interest. And I’m not really one for words, that’s why I make art, you know, because I need to express things that can only be expressed in images, there are no words, you know. So anyway, I look forward to making more art and…. Yeah. That’s what it’s all about. Art.”

Sophie clapped politely with the rest of crowd. She pretended to be as surprised as anyone when the art reporter – i.e., Eliot – pushed to the front of the crowd and demanded to ask the artist some questions.

“How can you, an ‘artist,’ claim that you have artistic integrity when you’ve just sold out to your corporate masters?” Eliot asked Nate. There was something a bit… pinched about Eliot’s voice that made Sophie narrow her eyes. Eliot _better_ not be imitating how she sounds when she talks about art, she noted.

Nate pretended to be struck deeply by Eliot’s question. “I – no, of course, my true priority is my own vision, not this corporation--”

Eliot pressed on, “Are you going to design their corporate stationery instead of painting from now on?”

“Now, you’re just being--” Nate stammered, “I mean, of course not, I have always painted, that’s what I am a painter, that’s everything to me.”

Carey stepped in, and Sophie could see the change in the man, his pleasant silliness gone now that he felt threatened. 

“Listen, nobody said there was going to be Q&A,” Carey said, trying to give Eliot an intimidating look (and what a feat that would be). “And we are proud to sponsor such a talented up and coming artist, and we intend to respect his artistic integrity, and any suggestion otherwise will be answered by our lawyers. Now, I believe it’s time for security to show you to the door.”

A murmur of curiosity passed through the crowd, but Eliot let himself be removed from the premises without resistance. Carey tried to make light of it, acting like everything was normal, but Nate was quite in character, refusing to look up when Carey said his name, seeming to mumble to himself. Sophie watched and the others listened on their comms as Nate continued with his performance.

“He’s right!” Nate yelled, interrupting more of Carey’s pleasantries, “That pretentious reporter guy is right!”

“Pretentious,” Eliot muttered, protective, as always, of his personae.

Nate continued, “I am a sellout. We are all sellouts! Just by living we are sellouts!”

Carey looked at him nervously. “Um, why don’t we all just calm down.”

“No!” Nate said, jumping to his feet and finally looking directly at the audience. “You try to change the art world. You try to offer a different vision. You try to get rid of the bad stuff, the stuff that just rots your faith in humanity. But every time you get rid of one bad thing, there are a hundred bad things there to take its place. You can’t change the world, not really. Not really. And so you make, you make _compromises_ , you settle for good enough, and no, you’re never ever good enough. And if everyone thinks you’re such a damn mess, you’d think they’d just leave you to be a damn mess, but no. They always think they can FIX you. Let me ask you something. What makes someone decide that they can FIX someone else? Isn’t that fundamentally a narcissistic belief, that they can make a person something other than what they want to be? Oh, but if you’re a genius, they all need you, they all need you to be on top of the game, they all…”

Nate stopped and seemed to lose his trail of thought.

“Ah, the artistic temperament,” Carey joked weakly and carefully helped Nate walk off the platform and to a back room, as Carey’s assistant took over the announcements. 

Sophie frowned. 

Nate always had to throw a little something extra in there. Just to prove how smart he was. It was like he couldn't help himself.

 

*************************

Later that night, Parker and Hardison were spending some time together, and Nate had gone on a walk because, just as he usually did lately, he wanted to be alone. Sophie and Eliot sat on the couch drinking coffee and eating the biscotti that Eliot had just (twice) baked. Naturally, the conversation turned to Nate’s little outburst, and just how much of it was ‘the character’ and how much of it was really what Nate felt.

“It wasn’t necessarily intended for us,” Eliot reminded her.

“Well, it wasn’t necessarily not,” she grumbled. She was starting to wonder why they put with -- really, why any of them put up with one another. Was it really the work? The bonds? Or that Nate had gotten under their skins and now they were attached even if they didn't want to be.

“If he really wanted us to back off he would have formed some clever multi-pronged plan to make it happen,” Eliot said.

“Would he? Or would he just spit on people’s concern for them until they leave him or just…”

“Just get used to his behavior and let it slide?”

“Exactly. And letting it slide is just another way of saying ‘enabling,’” Sophie said.

Eliot sighed. “Nate is Nate. We can look out for him, call him on it when it gets bad, but…”

“But we’re never going to get him to be less Nate-like,” Sophie assented. 

She sighed, and Eliot handed her another biscotti. She was glad he didn’t try to cheer her up with false optimism. She couldn’t stand that stuff any better than Nate could.

*************************

“Again, Mr. Carey, I’m so sorry about my brother-in-law’s behavior yesterday,” Sophie said, smiling at him in just the right way to garner sympathy. 

“It’s hardly your fault,” he replied, “And remember, it’s Dylan.”

Sophie laughed pleasantly. “Well, Dylan, you’re being very understanding about his little outburst. I can assure you, he’s grateful for the sponsorship, it’s just that... well, you know these artist types.”

“I know that you don’t get the talent without the baggage,” Dylan said with an understanding smile. 

Hearing this over the comms in the van, Parker mumbled, “This guy makes a lot of sense.”

Hardison reminded her, “This guy is planning an end to rational decision making.”

Parker shrugged. 

Sophie continued working the mark. “I can’t thank you enough. I mean I try to do right by him, the way my sister would have wanted. But sometimes…”

“Yes?” Dylan pressed. It was an old trick, making the mark chase the information you want to feed him.

“I just feel like I’ve tried everything. You can’t possibly know how hurtful – and how enraging – it is to drag a man up from under his issues every single day. I mean, when a man is stuck in his past, stuck in his hurt, how do you persuade him to do something good for himself? How do you get him to risk feeling again? How do you get him to live his life instead of just, you know, being frozen in his pain?” 

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we?” Nate muttered in the comms, but Sophie ignored him. She knew when a mark was about to bite.

“He’s lucky to have someone as understanding as you,” Dylan said. He looked as if he wanted to pat Sophie on the shoulder to reassure her but he held back, not wanting to seem too forward. 

She sighed sadly. “It’s just… things have been getting worse and worse. I just feel like this is my last chance to get him to turn his life around. I mean on the surface, he’s functioning fine, and that’s exactly what he’ll tell you if you ask him. Stubborn bastard.”

Nate cleared his throat over the comms, and Eliot smirked. 

“What I mean is,” Sophie continued, “I would do just about anything if I could just convince him to… well, to just be a little bit less miserable, to be frank. But you can’t make someone feel something they don’t want to….” She made a point of looking incredibly forlorn.

After a pause, Dylan spoke to her in a conspiratorial tone. “You don’t know what we do here at PanMetrics, do you?” 

She looked entirely apologetic. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much about technology, I’m afraid.”

“It’s behavioral analysis. Or, well, to be totally honest, it’s behavioral modification.”

“Really? I had no idea that you could do so much with the Web!” she answered.

“With the Web?” Hardison griped over the comms, “She’s supposed to be non-geeky. She’s not supposed to be from the Victorian age.”

Dylan Carey was unfazed. “Look, I shouldn’t be offering this, but…. Well, if you can give me his IP address, I can put his data into my algorithm and figure out the best way to … what is it you want him to do? Seek professional help? Be more optimistic?”

“I guess, just to… live his life. Instead of living in just his own head,” Sophie replied. She was starting to get annoyed at how close to home this con was hitting, but was starting to be intrigued about what Carey’s algorithm might turn up.

“Well, I haven’t done that request before, but it’s worth a try. I mean, of course I want to help the genius artist I’m sponsoring, since if he succeeds here then I look good,” Dylan said with a wry smile, “But, well, I’ve been there. Trying to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. It’s actually why I started working on the algorithm in the first place. I’d really like to help you with this. You deserve it.” He smiled softly at her, and she thought he looked fairly sincere. She felt a need to remind herself that he was no innocent; he was the type that was gracious to friends but vicious with those he perceived as enemies.

“That would be wonderful,” she said, eyes welling up with well-crafted tears of ‘gratitude.’ I’ll bring you the information tonight. 

*************************

Later that night, Sophie and Dylan were again strolling through his art collection; he had offered since Sophie had continued to flatter him about it.

She handed him the information about Nate’s computer and thanked him heartily for his help. 

Over comms, Nate said, “Hardison -- good job putting together a fake computer history for the ‘tortured artist’ on such short notice.”

“Uhh… yeah, about that, Nate,” Hardison answered. “We had to make sure that the algorithm would find your amassed data coherent enough to analyze and that it would at least semi-fit the artist persona you’re working, so …I just gave it the actual data from your computer. Minus the stuff related to our work, of course.”

“My data,” Nate said, “You went into my computer and used MY DATA? Without my permission?”

“Hi, my name is Hardison, I’m a hacker. H. A. C. K. E. R.,” he spelled, “Hacker.”

Parker giggled, “Does Nate have a lot of porn on his computer?”

Nate said, “No!” just as Eliot said “Probably.” Hardison quickly yelled, “I-have-no-idea-I-don’t-check-for-stuff-like-that-how-can-you-ask-me-that-anyway?” in such rapid fire that they all suspected he was covering something up.

Back at the art collection, Dylan Carey smiled at Sophie and said that he was happy to use the algorithm on Nate. He was in fact very pleased to be able to contribute something to the art world – and to her. 

“Do you really think you can help him? I mean it’s just a computer program, it can’t change who he is,” she said.

“It won’t change who he is,” Dylan agreed, “It will just give you the ideal situations and actions that will help him.”

“Situations? I thought that… I mean, after you told me this afternoon about your business, I looked it up. I thought you only did slogans and images, not… how to persuade people with, well, real interactions,” Sophie said. This change shouldn’t change their plan at all, as long as Carey used the same fundamental algorithm.

“I just tweaked the formula for you,” he said with a smile.

“Tweak?” Hardison said over the comms, “More like a major addition to the algorithm’s capabilities. Even I’m a little impressed.”

Sophie smiled at him and said, “I really can’t tell you how very grateful I am to you.” She touched him on the lapel of his suit, then, and he was so flustered that he didn’t notice in the slightest when she planted a micro-camera, compete with GPS tracking, on his suit jacket. 

“Let’s meet later tonight after I’ve run the data through. I’ll have some answers for you then, I hope.”

“That sounds terrific, Dylan,” she answered, lingering on his name a bit, just to give him proper motivation to go to his secret tech stash as soon as possible. 

But he seemed to have one more question for her, as they came upon another painting in his collection. 

“Do you like the placement?” he asked Sophie, gesturing toward the painting that they had told him Nate had done. 

“Terrific,” she said. It was true – the placement was fine, even if the lighting did it no favors. But then her eye caught another new painting around the corner, in one of the darkest areas of the gallery. 

“Oh, and this is by that other artist!” she said.

“What?” Dylan said, a bit confused.

“You know. That other contemporary painter. The one you refused to tell me about last time. You bought another one of his? Or hers? You’re not sponsoring two artists-in-residence, are you?” she teased.

He blushed. “No of course not. The painting is just… I just like it. I know this artist is not of the same caliber as the rest of my collection. He’s not…. I mean….” 

“On the contrary, I think his work is fabulous,” she said, “If he’s as obscure as you say, then as a collector you should be very proud of your discovery.”

Carey looked incredibly nervous, and Sophie stared at him for a moment, until she discerned something. 

But Carey just nervously said that he had to leave and promised her some information on how to help Nate.

 

*************************

The micro-camera worked perfectly. Hardison recorded all the information Parker would need to go back later that night and steal the algorithm, and a whole lot of other data that Carey wouldn’t want to go public. 

Sophie heads back in a few hours to meet Dylan Carey again in the gallery. The rest of them are at HQ, listening on their comms. No one admits it, but they’re all interested in hearing how Carey thinks Nate – or someone a little like Nate – can be ‘fixed.’ Except of course for Nate, who still seems upset about having his personal data used. Or possibly about Carey’s increasing levels of flirtation with Sophie. 

Sophie and Dylan are walking about the gallery as Dylan reports what he learned.

“Well, no offense, but your brother in law has hyper-rational narcissistic tendencies.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sophie said with a smile.

Nate grimaced.

Dylan continued, “He also suffers from a lack of resilience.”

Sophie stopped. “Is that – I mean, does all that psychological research suggest that lack of resilience is, you know… permanent?”

Dylan sighed, “Hard to say. We also found that due to his strong analytical skills – and he’s actually much more analytical, it seems, than most artists – and because of his suspicious nature – his paranoia, to be frank -- he would be very unlikely to respond favorably to standard images and language framing, even if it was tailored to trigger his emotional receptors.”

“You mean, the algorithm isn’t likely to work on him,” Sophie concluded with some disappointment.

“Ads and slogans aren’t likely to work on him,” Dylan said, “But remember, I made some improvements.”

“So you have… results?” she asked.

“Yes. But please remember, I can’t guarantee this, this part of the algorithm is new.”

“I understand.”

“Well, the other part you have to understand is that this won’t make him some happy fellow who skips around in joy all day,” Dylan added.

“I would find that insufferable, I assure you,” Sophie smiled.

“Okay. So there’s really no way to get him to be, well, … not miserable, as you put it. But the algorithm did conclude that certain situations and activities are more likely to, you know, give him a little bit of peace. Enough to keep going, hopefully.”

“I’m all ears,” Sophie said.

“Well, collaboration, for one thing. Working with people whose talent he respects. Having big responsibilities, having people who trust him. He apparently has control issues, which is not something I noticed in person actually, but it was in the data you gave me access to. And so having complex problems to solve and people who are counting on him are both things that channel his issues in productive ways. But – and I hope this doesn’t seem like too much of a contradiction to be helpful – the analysis shows that even though he needs people who trust him, he also needs people who… well, he needs people to criticize him. Maybe challenge is a better word.”

“He needs people who call him on his nonsense,” Sophie suggested.

“Yes,” Carey said, “And he needs to work. That’s the main conclusion. If he doesn’t have a specific goal every single day, that’s really bad for him. And also, well, no offense, but your brother-in-law apparently is a really angry guy.”

“And he should work on that.”

“Sure. Well, maybe. I mean, yes, but the analysis shows that setting and achieving goals based on thing he’s angry about might actually… improve his stability. Which, well, is a very unusual finding.”

Sophie paused for a moment. “That is some algorithm, Mr. Carey.”

“I hope it helps,” he said.

She smiled and walked toward the corner of the gallery. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your work,” she steering him to the painting she wanted to see.

“I happy to help you with anything,” he said, eyebrow raised. 

She glanced at the painting in the corner, the newest acquisition. “And I like this painting, too,” she said. “You’re a talented man, Dylan.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, I’m glad you think highly of me as a collector.”

She gave him a stare, kind-looking but relentless.

Finally, he smiled sheepishly. “You know, don’t you?”

“You painted this. And the other painting too.”

He gave an embarrassed shrug. “I know it’s silly. But I’m talented at business, at technology, not at art. And I just get a kick out of having my painting in the same collection as all these amazing artists. I know it’s just a fantasy, but I figure my own collection is the only place I’ll ever get to be shown alongside geniuses like your brother-in-law.”

“I don’t know about that. These works are excellent, Dylan,” she said, and actually meant it. 

“Oh, come on,” Dylan said, and she could tell it wasn’t begging for compliments. The man, cocky about his technology, honestly thought his lovely paintings were mediocre.

“Dylan, look at me. You are immensely talented. Believe that.” 

She looked so convincing that Dylan found himself nodding, thinking for the first time in his life that maybe he was a real artist.

Sophie smiled. She wasn’t lying about his talent. But there was a part of her that was glad that when it came to persuasion, she could still out-gun the inventor of the most advanced behavior modification algorithm in the world.

She promised Dylan that she would see him tomorrow and headed back to HQ. When she arrived, Nate had already locked himself in his room, claiming to need to sleep.

“After that Dylan guy said all that stuff,” Parker explained, “Eliot said that the algorithm sounded pretty smart. And then I said I was happy because Nate would totally fall apart without us which means he needs us, which is good. Right? And then Nate just rolled his eyes and went to sleep.”

“Yeah, feelings make Nate ‘sleepy,’” Hardison said with great sarcasm.

Sophie sighed. She said, “Well, it could have been worse. The algorithm could have said Nate is hopeless.”

Eliot grimaced, “No, it just said that the Nate we have now is about as good as it gets.”

Sophie frowned. “No. It said that if we keep doing what we’re doing, then Nate is eventually going to be as good as he can get.”

“I like that spin,” Hardison said.

Parker and Eliot nodded their agreement. Hope was a choice, and they were still willing to make it.

 

*************************

 

The original plan was to post the algorithm online.

Somehow, Nate’s plan became more elaborate. He planned to go in and dangle the stolen algorithm in front of Carey, provoking him into confessing to setting up their client, all the while secretly taping it. The police would then arrive, thanks to an intercepted bulletin from Hardison, at just the right moment to haul Carey in.

“That’s a riskier move,” Eliot had noted, “With all the corporate security he has in there.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes at Nate. “You know, just because I don’t hate the mark, it doesn’t mean you have to throw some jealous, life-risking snit.”

Nate pursed his lips. “This is not a snit. And why would I be jealous? The man’s an idiot.”

“An idiot billionaire who’s brilliant at art and manipulating people. Yeah, not Sophie’s type at all,” Parker snorted, before Hardison gave her a look that said _Yeah this is one of those Nate-Sophie moments that we will be safer if we stay out of_.

But Nate just insisted his plan was much better for the client, and so that’s what they went with.

As expected, once threatened, Carey tried to physically take the drive from Nate, with little regard for Nate’s safety. 

As expected, Eliot threw Carey on the ground a second before Carey could reach Nate. The only unexpected part was that Nate decided to start mocking Carey a few minutes ahead of schedule, which means that Eliot had to do more than charm a couple of employees to get there in time.

After Dylan was subdued, Eliot gave his fist a quick shake to loosen it up – it wasn’t that Dylan’s face was that hard, it was just that it was the same fist he used on the 14 security guards he just blew past to get there. 

“You couldn’t wait 5 minutes until I got here? You know, AS PLANNED?? So your life wouldn’t be in danger when you confronted the guy?” Eliot growled. “You know, you get upset if anyone ELSE improvises.”

“It’s more fun this way,” Nate said with a smile, as Eliot put plastic cuffs on a somewhat bruised Dylan Carey so he would be nicely wrapped for the nearing police sirens. The man was sitting on the ground, looking more than simply angry to be caught. It looked like he actually had the sense to be ashamed of his actions. He said little, which was a nice change from the marks who threatened them with vague but terrible death, but he did occasionally give Sophie a sad glance. 

Right before he was dragged off, Sophie said, “So you know that not everything I said was true.”

Carey nodded, jaw tight.

She continued, “But what I said about your painting was absolutely true. They’re superb.”

He looked comforted by this, and grateful. Until Nate added, “Yeah, you’ll have plenty of free time to paint fairly soon.”

They left him to the police officers as soon as they arrived, but before they left, Sophie wanted to take one last walk around his art collection as they retrieved the artwork that they had claimed was by Nate.

“You know, Carey’s a bad guy. He didn’t care what happened to our client,” Nate suddenly said, apropos of nothing.

She gave him a look. “Of course I know that. I don’t mind taking him down at all. It doesn’t mean I have to despise him.”

Nate tightened his lips and it was almost like a smile. “I was starting to think you were a little bit charmed by him.”

“Please. I’m a pro. Though it really is a shame,” Sophie observed as she walked past a lesser Fauvist and arrived once again at Carey’s own painting. “He truly is a talented artist. Genius, in fact, if you want my opinion.”

Nate raised an eyebrow, frowning. “Is that what you want, Sophie? A genius with a dark side?”

She smiled, and it could have meant anything. “Now why would I want someone like that?”


End file.
